Published: August 12th 2008August 12th 2008
in San Petro.
San Petro, night time.
I'm lying flat on my back on my bed here in our little room trying to let the effect of that joint we just had do its work. WOW, tell you mon, this was really good shit.
Has been a while since I smoked such good mariuana, I'm really tripping on this dope.
Memories of the past are coming back, filling my head but in a real positive way, African colors are swarming in front of my eyes, Thai female voices call to me from the other side of world, oh yeah no doubt about it, I'm really tripping......happens very rarely you can trip so good on plane mariuana...you usually need something stronger to get to this mental state.
James is on his own bed rolling us another joint, bla-bla-blaing away about how good this dope really is,"we got ourselves a bargain, Hans", "I told you we should buy ourselves a few gram of local dope".
Outside I can hear the children of the local family we rent our room from, their voices sound like the voices of angels, the moon light that filters through our room gives the interior a magical flow, the light of the
over the lake of Lago Atitlàn
candle on the little wooden table adds to the mellow admosphere.
There is no police is San Petro so no paranoia there.
Having a serious problem heaving myself from the bed, I pour us both another glass of Red Wine telling James he's right about the quality of the dope and secretly hoping he'll hurry up with that next joint when "knock-knock-knock" , a heavy knocking on the door disturbs our mellow mood.
For a very brief moment my drug-induced mind is transported all across the globe to Thailand, to Pattaya, where the Hot Mommas have that habit of knocking on my door at any time of the day or night. Just a flash, within a second I'm back in our little room in San Petro in Guatamala, back in the here and now and while James desperately tries to hide the bag of dope under his matress, I walk to the door where the annoying knocking takes another annoying "Knock-Knock-Knock".
Opening the door I find that shit-for-nothing Belgium in front of it, his knuckels just about to yet again do damage to our door. Somehow my foggy mind manages to remember him from the bar we were in earlier - the only bar in San Petro by the way and full with drunk locals and alternative gringos, the place where we bought our dope.
I let him in, I know why is is here. He and James have been talking all night down in that obscure little bar about climbing to the top of the San Petro Volcan top. I already know what is gonna happen now, the shit-hole Belgium and James are gonna talk more about climbing that damned volcano and that mellow special admosphere that ruled our room only moments before is gone to smithereens.
I return to my bed, lie down and pull the indio colored blanket across my head giving in to MJ induced sweet oblivion and soon enough the heated voices of James and the Crazy Belgium fade away to give place to sweet female voices from Thailand.
I'm still tripping but I'm now tripping in the dream world.